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  1. Hymn of Pan. Listening to my sweet pipings. Listening to my sweet pipings. Speeded by my sweet pipings. With envy of my sweet pipings. I pursu'd a maiden and clasp'd a reed. Gods and men, we are all deluded thus! It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed. At the sorrow of my sweet pipings.

  2. Hymn of Pan was composed in 1820 and was published with Posthumous Poems in 1824. It is lively and tripping in its measure. It contains three Stanzas of twelve lines each. Each Stanza ends with the delicate refrain 'my sweet pipings'. The origins of this poem are the same as those of Hymn of Apollo.

  3. Analysis (ai): Hymn of Pan evokes a primal and idyllic setting through its references to nature and mythological figures. It celebrates the transformative power of music, depicting Pan's pipings as captivating all who hear them. This poem stands out among Shelley's other works for its brevity and focus on nature.

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  5. Hymn of Pan by Percy Bysshe Shelley. This address to Pan was written by the English Romantic poet Percy Shelley (1792-1822) From the forests and highlands. We come, we come; From the river-girt islands, Where loud waves are dumb. Listening to my sweet pipings.

  6. Mar 26, 2024 · The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley (ed. Hutchinson, 1914)/Hymn of Pan. For works with similar titles, see Hymn of Pan. sister projects: Wikidata item. [Published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824.

  7. Hymn of Pan, by Percy Shelley | poems, essays, and short stories in Poeticous. Percy Shelley. Hymn of Pan. From the forests and highlands. We come, we come; From the river—girt islands, Where loud waves are dumb. Listening my sweet pipings. The wind in the reeds and the rushes, The bees on the bells of thyme, The birds on the myrtle bushes,

  8. We come, we come; From the river-girt islands, Where loud waves are dumb. Listening to my sweet pipings. The wind in the reeds and the rushes, The bees on the bells of thyme, The birds on the myrtle bushes, The cicale above in the lime, And the lizards below in the grass, Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was, Listening to my sweet pipings.

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